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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710049">i will not ask (&amp; neither should you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolshope/pseuds/foolshope'>foolshope</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Riverdale (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bisexual Gladys Jones, F/F, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Riverparents, Valentine's Day, but it's after the midnight club, but they're teenagers here don't ask how old, closeted mlm wlm solidarity, idk it's rly short and kinda pointless and glossed over but it's gay pls read it, just a little though, lapslock, me taking very small creative liberties concerning gladys's family dynamics, or bi whatever floats ur boat n sails ur ship, parentdale, repressed gay fp jones the second, shitty and also accidental valentine's day gifts, this is literally my first attempt at a holiday special AND a riverparent fic don't come for me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:53:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22710049</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolshope/pseuds/foolshope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the aisles are slow and congested with lonely old people that gladys refuses to think about as she inches past them to size up the heart-shaped chocolate assortments with a critical eye, hands shoved deep in jacket pockets and feet ever shifting, so it’s difficult not to notice the nearby presence of one alice smith when it appears just a few paces down fiddling with a bouquet of the fakest red roses she has ever seen.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alice Cooper/Gladys Jones, Fred Andrews/FP Jones II (mentioned)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i will not ask (&amp; neither should you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is my first riverparent anything and i wrote it spur of the moment from like midnight to 1am on a random craving to have something done for valentine's day, so that's probably why it's literally the shortest most brief oneshot ever, but alas i only had so much time and so many braincells to contribute to not wanting to bite off more than i could chew and just not actually posting anything at all in time for anything :/ SO here this is ! super short and really skimmed over but ! posted ! and actually in time for the related event !</p><p>spoilers for like nothing idk the cw hates the parents in riverdale</p><p>rated t for implied sec sea times</p><p>i listened to florence's cover of stand by me while writing this but the title is taken from like real people do by hozier</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> i will not ask you where you came from<br/>
i will not ask you, neither should you </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>the grocery store is abnormally empty given the date at hand, red and pink plastered all over centerpieces and chocolates proportionally marked down in occasion, young lovers and old married couples alike apparently punctual in all their valentine escapades and in no need of afternoon runs for last minute merchandise. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>the aisles are slow and congested with lonely old people that gladys refuses to think about as she inches past them to size up the heart-shaped chocolate assortments with a critical eye, hands shoved deep in jacket pockets and feet ever shifting, so it’s difficult not to notice the nearby presence of one alice smith when it appears just a few paces down fiddling with a bouquet of the fakest red roses she has ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>single eyebrow cocked, she merely stares at first, her own reasons for stalking the aisles suddenly put on hold for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“for that northside boy toy of yours?” she asks without thinking, tone one of genuine curiosity despite being anything but, and when alice looks up, gaze darting around before finally finding hers, her expression lopsides easily into a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>alice’s then fissures into something more deadpan in contrast. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“none of your business.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>gladys shrugs, taking a step closer on the ball of her foot and leaning into the sliding momentum over dust-stained tile before landing with an intentional lurch just a few inches away. only then does she lower her shoulders from her ears and untangle her hands from her coat.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“hey, no judgement here. with an ass like that, anyone’d betray their roots,” she replies, voice lilting, half-joking half-serious, gaze flicking up at the ceiling in half-faux contemplation. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>alice turns fully to her now, reaching up to cross her free hand over her chest while gladys closely watches the movement. the latter’s eyebrows furrow. “you sound like you speak from experience,” she says with a lilt of her own, and gladys can’t tell if it’s skeptical or humoring, but it doesn’t really matter because she doesn’t really care what comes out when alice smith opens her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>so she just shrugs again and snatches the artificial bouquet from alice’s baby blue-tipped fingers before she can stop her.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“you’re really thinking about getting hal cooper </span>
  <em>
    <span>these </span>
  </em>
  <span>for valentine’s day? do your plans include a dramatically holiday themed breakup or does your taste in men just affect your taste in everything else too?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“god, did i fucking ask you, gladys? go be jealous over somebody else’s relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>gets her to laugh, head thrown back and teeth flashing because that really is fucking funny, bouquet flopping out to the side just in time for alice to swipe it back and shove it in its place next to the others on the shelf while her face curls into somewhat veiled discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“ah, you wish, princess.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“fuck you,” is all she retorts with, expression now fully contorted in a scowl that’s still aimed at the flowers.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>gladys smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“... dare you to steal them.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>and alice’s head whips around like glady’s has grown another. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“... what?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she asks, yet manages to say it without a single ounce of actual surprise, or better yet, any actual inquiry, and gladys doesn’t quite know why it offends her.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“not like it’s worth shit anyway; i mean look at them.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“then why the fuck would i </span>
  <em>
    <span>steal </span>
  </em>
  <span>them, shithead?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>gladys shrugs for the third time that day, smile still playing over too-chapped skin and hands still shoved in serpent leather, booted feet ever shifting, and that’s how she ends up sprinting out the doors of marriott's grocery with alice smith hot on her heels, duel adrenaline-fueled laughter mingling together far after they’ve outrun the television-atrophied legs of marriott herself’s son chasing after them, even as the other curses her with all too authentic venom dripping from her lipsticked lips. how she ends up panting in an alleyway several blocks away with winter mist fogging each breath between them, wandering warmth, calloused hands planted heavy on bruised knees before reaching up to grab at those roses, but alice doesn’t let go of them this time.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“ah, come on, consider it payment,” she sighs, tugging insistently.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“for what?” </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>another shrug, eyes rolling to stare at the gravel as it crunches under her toes. “the pleasure of my company. and relationship advice.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“what</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘relationship advice’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>-- you told me these were better suited for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>breakup </span>
  </em>
  <span>than a date, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then </span>
  </em>
  <span>immediately encouraged me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>steal </span>
  </em>
  <span>them,” she sneers, yanking the flowers out of reach and taking a step back, own toes cracking and popping with the motion. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“yeah, see? encouragement.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“you’re fucking impossible.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>gladys’s smile returns then, and she matches the blonde’s strides with her own until they’re next to a dumpster that smells more like death than discarded food. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“i know.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“why do you even want them anyway? you obviously hate them,” she asks, steps halting their trek back to the street to swivel back around and face gladys so fast she nearly plows straight into her before she can stop in time, nose to nose and breathing in a breath that’s just a fracture deeper than the last. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“... because.” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>she thinks of taking them home and polishing them up with a ribbon, maybe red or white, thinks of finding an old vase tucked in the closet and making a home for it on the kitchen counter at four in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“that’s not even an answer,” alice mutters, words that’re just a little more aimless than the last, and gladys thinks of readjusting the assortment, ribbon around the neck of the vase instead and the old doily draped useless on the bookshelf migrated underneath, basic bitch red somehow contrasting the speckled counter nicely in the early morning light to sleep-deprived eyes. she thinks of scribbling out a basic bitch note on shopping list paper and signing in with a name other than her own just to watch the sharpness in her father’s eyes soften when they turn to her mother’s with that annual surprise, when he smiles that annual smile of something both embarrassed and endeared by those pathetic roses, because he thinks his wife gave them to him, not his daughter. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>all while her mom smiles that stiff smile and meets gladys’s eyes from across the room with a practiced blankness that bleeds to her very core.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>gladys thinks, and suddenly doesn’t want to, and that’s how she ends up leaning in the last five inches between a northsider wannabe and pressing their lips together with yet another inhale that feels deeper than the last. how alice ends up shoving her away only to pull her back in again, staining her lips a darker shade of pink with a strange kind of softness to match, wandering warmth, calloused hands clinging to serpent leather before smoothing out over it and not letting go until far after they’ve stumbled back to her truck on lightheaded legs, driven to someplace more secluded and discreet than the side of a downtown road and much more familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>when alice finally pulls her navy coat back onto goosepimpled shoulders a couple hours later and marches off towards her own trailer not a handful of blocks away without a backwards glance, gladys catches f.p. jones watching her from his porch steps.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>she squints at him.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>he merely takes a hit of his joint, turns when his own door swings open to reveal a slightly disheveled fred andrews, in the flesh and keeping watch of the planks of wood underfoot more than the face of his companion, only turning to give one final wave and a look before departing with his head hung halfway canted down and distracted.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>gladys arcs a brow and crosses the few yards between them to perch next to her peeping neighbor, already reaching to snatch the homemade cigarette from f.p.’s recently warmed fingers before he can stop her. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“shut up,” she says around an exhale, passing it back to him as he scoffs.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“i didn’t say anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“you were thinking it. thinking doesn't suit you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>he just shakes his head and smiles that smile of his that makes everyone either want to punch him or kiss him. right now, gladys doesn’t really want to do either.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“hey, i get it; alice smith is -- ”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“i said </span>
  <em>
    <span>shut up,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she grits out, eyes rolling up and away as she wedges her elbow right into the span of his ribs. “you don’t get to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>when fred andrews just walked out of here looking like his neck went toe-to-toe with a vacuum.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>gets him to shut up, gaze darting in the direction fred just left with something like panic flaring in its depths, long limbs suddenly stiffened coils ready to spring at any moment. lips thinning, she glances where his old man’s buggie is usually parked and finds nothing but flattened imprints in the grass, a part of her relaxing just a little at the sight.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>a sigh deepens the slump in her shoulders, and she grabs at the cigarette for another breath. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“happy valentine’s day,” is what she says between the plumes of smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“... i won’t tell if you won’t,” is how he answers.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>and gladys thinks of all the years past, of nothing but bristled frost overtaking each and every word exchanged between her parents, of early morning coffee on february 14ths and sweetheart candies thawing out the cold for but the briefest of moments while she looks on from her spot on the couch, watching them instead of the boxed-in cartoons.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“deal,” she answers, and thinks of a bouquet of the fakest red roses she has ever seen, left behind in the abandon passenger seat of her truck.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> honey just put your sweet lips on my lips<br/>
we should just kiss like real people do </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm kind of really not happy with this but at the same time it's my first time writing for any of the parents so i'm trying to give myself some slack, and it's SO last minute i'm surprised i reached even 1k words tbh, AND i pretty much never write explicitly romantic/sexual dynamics unless it's like super subtleTM so i rly just. threw myself out there for this one lol</p><p>but yeah!! maybe i'll write more riverparent stuff sometime? more of gladys specifically considering her entire backstory is basically a playground for me to go hogwild with. but please feel free to leave comments, especially critiques as far as characterization goes and such, or anything, really, i just love getting feedback from y'all &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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